


Habsuitewrecker

by systemscheck



Category: Transformers: Prime
Genre: Accidental Polyamory, Alternate Universe - No War, Other, area mech discovers his life is fake and gay, the collective noun for 'seeker' is battalion but 'great bloody mess' will suffice
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2020-06-19
Updated: 2020-06-19
Packaged: 2021-03-04 00:35:12
Rating: Not Rated
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 4,022
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/24804784
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/systemscheck/pseuds/systemscheck
Summary: “When I agreed to become Starcream’s conjunx,” Megatron says, slowly, “it was certainly not with the intention of joining some sort of harem.”
Relationships: Megatron/Skywarp/Starscream/Thundercracker (Transformers), Megatron/Starscream (Transformers)
Comments: 6
Kudos: 79





	Habsuitewrecker

"This sounds just like any other senate function I've had to scowl my way through," Starscream complains, tossing back the embossed copper invite without looking. Megatron has to duck out of the way. "Just book-flavoured."

"I'm sure that the engex will taste normal, Starscream," Megatron answers wearily. Primus knows how many galas, commemoration ceremonies and assorted high society shindigs a senator's bodyguard can expect to attend over the course of their career, but Megatron is hoping that he can make an exception here.

"Besides, Optimus will be disappointed if my plus-one fails to show up after I told him about you."

The newly-appointed Prime is the one who had extended this invitation to Megatron in the first place. It's kind of cute that he's trying to stay friends with a lowly former labourer, though Megatron has to wonder how long it'd take before Optimus forgets all about Orion's previous relationships. He has a shiny new upgraded frame that Megatron absolutely does not notice every time Optimus shows up on public broadcasts, and an entire cabal of Primal devotees worshipping the very ground he walks upon. Even the place he lives is elevated far above the public sphere, an opulent temple built out of reach of the air pollution that clogs the city. A lesser mech would have let this level of privilege go to his processor a long time ago. As long as Optimus continues fulfilling the promises he made to the disenchanted bots he and Megatron used to ~~radicalise~~ rally, Megatron's satisfied. Orion had been a good friend. Optimus is shaping up to be a great leader. 

Starscream wasn't there to see the revolution rise, or splutter out abruptly when they decided to let Optimus take the reins of government and work at peacefully reforming the system from within. He only knows Optimus as the public figure who's taking the Council by storm, bright-opticked and irresistibly commanding. 

The note of genuine regret in Megatron's voice is completely disregarded by Starscream's social subroutines. His optics blaze. 

"The Prime will be there? Why didn't you say so earlier—of course I'm coming!"

Starscream leaps off the edge of the table where he’d been perched.

“Where are you off to,” Megatron asks, bemused. “We don’t need to leave for another two hours.” 

Starscream shrieks loudly enough to make Megatron’s audials fritz painfully from the feedback. “How am I supposed to get detailed in time?” he screeches. 

The seeker puts on speed only to forgo running entirely, transforming mid-step to streak out of the door and down the hallway with his thrusters howling. Megatron shrugs helplessly at a neighbour who's watching in confusion before giving chase to his conjunx. They soar over the balcony and the whole of Iacon unfolds beneath them, a golden grid of delicate spires and jewelled domes that once filled Megatron with the urge to bomb everything to smithereens from on high. Now, he merely savours the chilly air currents that tickle his wings. 

Thanks to his specialised engines, Starscream is rapidly disappearing into a distant speck. Megatron comms him to slow down. He has no idea why Starscream wants to be detailed again. From what Megatron remembers from the last time he was allowed up close, the seeker's chassis has remained in top order. 

Once Megatron catches up, Starscream doesn't wait before banking hard. They shed altitude in an exhilarating rush that terminates on the rooftop of a small apartment block. Megatron takes one look at the cracked concrete and flickering lights and knows that there's illegal subletting going on below his feet, dividing cramped spaces into something truly claustrophobic. 

As the fliers touch down, a trio of sparklings playing on the roof halt their game. One of them falls over in surprise, or maybe the blowback from Starscream's fiery landing. Starscream waves dismissively at the children before dragging Megatron into the lift. 

"Sunstreaker! I know you're in there," Starscream yells while banging on the door of one unit. "It's an emergency!" 

There's no response. Megatron watches with some measure of bewilderment as Starscream paces the narrow corridor. At this rate his heels are going to wear a path into the floor, and then who's going to pay to repair it? 

After a lot more cursing, a bright yellow bot finally opens the door. The irritation on his face totally clashes with such a cheery finish. 

"Do you know what time is it," he says, tersely. "What do you want to bother me about?" 

"I have to be presentable for some party the Prime is attending tonight." 

Sunstreaker's illumination routines all go off in alarm. "Get in," he snaps, and Starscream moves so quickly the air shimmers in his wake. 

The doorway barely accommodates Megatron's shoulders. For an absolutely terrifying moment he thinks he is well and truly stuck, unable to extricate himself unless they disassemble him, until Starscream grudgingly comes to the rescue. 

Inside Sunstreaker's apartment, there's a gorgeous racecar splayed on the couch. Some kind of reality show is playing. The holo gets distorted by Starscream walking straight through it, followed by Megatron who tries and fails to avoid doing the same in the cluttered apartment. 

The car yelps and switches off the projector. 

“Sunny, you didn’t mention anything about group activities,” he whines. “Am I not enough for you?” 

Sunstreaker leans down to give the car a peck on the cheek. “They’re clients, Mirage. I’ll make this up to you later.” 

Mirage scowls and stalks off. As he brushes past Megatron there's a nasty static shock. Megatron can't tell if it was deliberate or not. 

"Why didn't you come to me earlier," Sunstreaker groans. He beckons them over to a tiny workshop located at the back of the apartment, obviously converted from a storeroom. Starscream goes to sit on a paint-splattered stool placed in the middle. 

"Megatron only saw fit to inform me of the event just now," he sniffs. "I appreciate how exacting your standards are, Sunstreaker, but just this once could you do me a favour and speed things up?"

After a beat, Sunstreaker nods unhappily. He collects jars of wax and other supplies from an overstuffed cabinet in the corner and sets them around Starscream like a devotee making offerings before a statue of Primus. There is a short, jargon-filled discussion that Megatron understands roughly two percent of and then Sunstreaker whirls into action. Sunstreaker drapes Starscream’s lower body with a tarp and covers the rest of his plating with masking tape. Starscream has already put on the face shield to protect his haughty features. After making sure that everything is attached securely Sunstreaker goes over Starscream’s wings with a handheld spray paint applicator, moving with a delicacy that belies his powerful appearance. Sunstreaker may look like the kind of mech who’s more familiar with scraping up paint rather than applying it, but nobody watching him work can deny that he’s good at it. 

Megatron’s internal chrono pings him just as Sunstreaker is finishing up. 

“I can throw in a touch-up for the big guy,” Sunstreaker says, weighing the buffer in his hand like he’s thinking of attacking Megatron with it. “How can you even let him out of the house looking like that?”

Starscream smiles ruefully. “You should have seen the state I found him in. Megatron used to think that paint stripper was an acceptable engex substitute.”

Sunstreaker laughs in horror. Megatron quickly gets to his feet. 

“It’s quite alright,” he says. “We should get going now, to avoid the evening rush.” 

“Bring him along the next time you drop by,” Sunstreaker calls out when they leave. Starscream waves a hand in acknowledgement. 

The suburban air lanes are filling up with people returning home from work. Megatron's still worried when they get nearer to the city centre where traffic is sparse. They're going to be late if Starscream continues dawdling like this, hovering beside glassy office blocks to check out his reflection. 

"There won't be anyone left to show off to if we take any longer," Megatron says. "Such a pity too, when Sunstreaker did such beautiful work." 

Starscream's field radiates smug. "He wants to open a real workshop. It's hard for an ex-pit fighter to get the permits, though. Think you can ask Optimus about this?"

“If we get there before the event ends, probably,” Megatron allows. Starscream kicks his afterburners up to full thrust and scorches Megatron lightly before zooming off. 

Even before the hotel comes into view, the music playing can already be heard, a deep bass reverberation momentarily confusing Megatron’s radar before he filters it out. Starscream lands and flounces away in root mode without breaking momentum. 

“You look like a million shanix,” a helicopter coos at Starscream. Behind Starscream’s back, Megatron scowls. The figure is close enough. Despite operating illegally Sunstreaker charges upmarket prices for his services. Still, the enormous sum he’d extracted from their joint account has probably more to do with the hassle of being commissioned for a rush job.

“Don’t be too kind,” Starscream replies, even as he preens under the attention. Starscream’s wings are elegant slashes of slate grey that flutter prettily when Megatron gives into the temptation to run a hand across them. 

Practically everyone there is polished to a shine. Megatron had thought that Starscream's freshly pampered armour would be a beacon for attention, but it's Megatron who stands out. He almost regrets turning down Sunstreaker's offer when the next ugly look someone gives him comes from a service bot, one who manages to offer him a drink in the most ungracious way. 

At least one of them is having a good time. Starscream is the recipient of far more welcoming handshakes as they stroll across the marble floor. With his security logos covered by temporary paint and his integrated weaponry folded away, Starscream passes for yet another young aristocrat trying to fit in with the literati. 

Optimus had portrayed this event as a networking opportunity, and sure enough, there are several big-name publisher booths and literary agents milling around. Megatron still feels horribly out of place, suddenly self-conscious of the remnants of hazard tape that cling to his frame. He ends up letting Starscream handle introductions and drinks cube after cube of disgustingly sweet highgrade while the other mechs titter over how brave Starscream is to pursue a cross-caste relationship. 

Approximately five hundred compliments later, Starscream looks like he has completely forgotten how mad he was at Megatron. He doesn’t even protest when Megatron tugs him along after spotting a familiar flash of red armour. 

Optimus is talking to a little microscope near the light fountain but interrupts himself when Megatron and Starscream walk over. 

“I’m so glad you two could make it,” Optimus says warmly, and unlike everyone else who has been saying this at the party he sounds utterly sincere. “Megatron here runs a bookstore, Ferrus. Perhaps he could promote your latest tome?” 

The microscope squints suspiciously at Megatron. “I don’t write manuals on hauling slag,” he says eventually. Optimus’ smile sort of freezes on his face. 

“My store stocks other kinds of books,” Megatron says, freezingly polite. “Scientific texts are welcome too, although our shelves are mainly occupied by novels.” 

The microscope makes a contemptuous noise at that. At least he’s smart enough not to criticise Megatron’s choice of occupation in front of the Prime who has made it possible. Ever since his ascension to office, Optimus has been passing legislation to relax the correlation between function and form, allowing people to make career changes and pursue a purpose that didn’t necessarily have anything to do with what they turned into. 

Megatron tunes out as Ferrus launches into an explanation of his book at Optimus’ request. He’s mildly amused by how Starscream criticizes the microscope’s theories over their comms, but there’s no escape from how unrelentingly dull Ferrus sounds as he goes on and on. 

“And what do you do,” Ferrus asks Starscream after finally remembering that other people exist. 

“Private security. I also go for night classes at the Jhiaxian Academy.” 

“Starscream’s earning a degree in xenobiology,” Megatron says. 

“A shiny pair of wings like you shouldn’t be poking around in a lab,” Ferrus interjects. “If you really want to discover new things, however, I may have an offer…” To Megatron’s disgust, the microscope’s lack of height doesn’t impede him giving Starscream a once-over. His optic band glows suggestively as it roves down Starscream’s frame. 

Megatron’s knuckles creak with the effort of resisting the urge to punch him. It wouldn’t do to spoil Optimus’ reputation, but this is exactly the sort of thing the new Prime had said would stop under his rule. Starscream’s lips are pressed together as he ponders the best way to eviscerate the microscope, hopefully only verbally. Before he can open his mouth, however, Megatron grabs him by the arm and beats a hasty retreat. He can hear Optimus explaining to Ferrus that the ‘shiny pair of wings’ he’d been ogling was in fact conjunxed. Underneath all that ridiculous posturing, Optimus is a good mech. 

Megatron draws Starscream into a little nook illuminated by softly glowing crystals. This decoration probably cost more to import than both their combined salaries. The waste heat dumped by their angry frames quickly makes the small area stifling. Starscream’s ailerons flex in agitation. 

“I wish all those people would just explode into a hundred thousand flaming pieces,” Starscream growls. “And then I’d solder them back together and do it all over again, and again and again. You’d help me, will you?”

“Starscream, it was only one mech,” Megatron tries to tell him, but then Starscream looks up into his optics with resentment heating his face. 

“Sure, that scope was the only one daring enough to make a move,” he says. “But didn’t you notice how people were staring at me? You’re my conjunx, Megatron! When will they finally stop—” 

Starscream cuts himself off when a cleaning drone emerges from a hidden door in the wall. They shuffle aside to let it pass. 

“What do you mean," Megatron says. 

“Nothing! Just sit back and enjoy the show, will you.”

Starscream abruptly sags against Megatron’s chest as if all the fight has drained out of him. “I want to go home,” he mumbles. “Let’s go home.” 

Megatron scoops him up in his arms. He would like nothing more than to do as Starscream suggested, but opportunities to see Optimus in person are few and far between. Passing up this chance will be a terrible waste. 

"Darling," he says, hating himself, "could you wait for half an hour?" 

Starscream flies back alone. 

Gaining a second audience with the Prime is difficult when there's truckloads of other people who want to meet him too. As Megatron bides his time, he ends up chatting with couple of writers and distributors on his own. The response is lukewarm, to put things mildly. Belatedly, he realises that it’s true. His chances of attracting an audience were much better with a beautiful seeker by his side. Or perhaps with Starscream’s night ruined, Megatron doesn’t sound very enthused when talking about his business. 

He nearly drops the flute of engex in his hand when a nearby motorcycle gives a low whistle. “Will you look at that,” the bike remarks. Megatron reluctantly follows their line of sight to see two seekers strutting side by side, or to be more accurate one seeker strutting and the other flier kind of stumbling drunkenly. 

The blue seeker finally gives up on looking dignified when his companion trips over his own feet. 

“Sit with me, TC,” the purple seeker slurs. “This ca, carpet is softer than our berth. Can we bring it home?” 

Without waiting for an answer he extrudes a laser cutter from one finger and scrutinizes the ground, apparently intent on taking a souvenir. 

Megatron quickly reaches out and pinches a cable at the base of his exposed neck. The purple seeker jolts upright, instantly sober. It’s a nifty little trick to divert excess fuel from the brain module based on how seeker physiology prioritises adequate supply to the engines. 

“Thank you, uh,” the blue one says, helping his friend to his feet. 

“Megatron. My conjunx’s a seeker,” Megatron explains. “Starscream’s also prone to intoxication, although I’ll admit to never seeing anyone this overcharged.”

The seekers stare at him with identical expressions of total shock. “It’s alright,” Megatron says awkwardly. “I’m sure there are lots of people here getting drunk off their afts.”

“Skywarp—” the blue one says. “Are my audials malfunctioning?” 

Skywarp jabs at Megatron’s chest. “I’m not drunk enough to believe that Screamer bunked down with this guy,” he says. 

Megatron swats the hand away. “Well, Starscream did," he bites out in probably the most aggressive way anyone has admitted to being married.

“What's he like? Mean? Vain? Extremely pre—petty?” 

“You could say that,” Megatron says, frowning. “Do you know him?”

“Me and Thundercracker were his trine,” Skywarps bites out. “Are his trine, I mean.” 

“You used to work together?” Megatron doesn’t recognise the word Skywarp used. 

Thundercracker’s mouth drops open. 

The scene they’re making is attracting a fair bit of attention, and not the kind Megatron cares for at all. “Let’s take this outside,” Megatron says, and hauls them both down to the lobby. Despite sharing the same base model they’re slightly heavier than Starscream, having kept the reinforced armor typical of active-duty warframes. Starscream had stripped his frame of most military features after turning civilian and only retained the nullrays Skywarp keeps powering on and off again. 

Megatron never knew how intimidating those rifles could sound. 

The receptionist keeps sneaking worried glances over at them. Megatron hopes that nobody will do anything that makes her call for the enforcers. 

Skywarp’s mad pacing is producing a loud clicking noise against the marble tiles. “You know how grounders think we all look the same,” he whispers to Thundercracker loud enough to overhear. “And this Magmaton doesn’t seem like his type at all.” 

“Mega-tron,” Megatron cuts in. “And I can tell Seekers apart just fine. Why don’t you show me proof of this so-called ‘trinemate’ and we can get this nonsense over with?” 

Skywarp crosses his arms. “He deleted all his holos when he left.” 

How convenient. Megatron tells them so, and Thundercracker’s gaze slides uneasily to the side. Skywarp finally taps Megatron on the arm. 

“Look,” he says. “It isn’t the best quality but I do have this image capture.” 

As Skywarp warned, Megatron can barely make out what’s happening in the picture. Nevertheless, even while blurry, out of focus and covered in bright orange paint, face contorted into an expression of extreme rage as his claws reach out towards whoever was holding the camera, Starscream’s features are undeniably recognizable. 

“That’s him,” Megatron says. “He must have put you in hospital for this.”

“Two weeks,” Skywarp answers, suddenly smiling. “It was worth every minute of taking energon from a drip.” 

Thundercracker shifts on his feet. “Look, Megatron,” he says. “Trines are a—seeker thing. We share responsibilities. A household. Sometimes, a berth. Starscream was our wingleader until he decided that being a flying gun wasn’t his thing. He lit off a couple of years ago and we haven’t heard back ever since.”

Megatron wants to think that Thundercracker is mistaken, or lying, but he really doesn’t know much about Starscream’s history. Starscream had simply crashed into his shop one day while hunting a would-be assassin, shooting the mech dead in the fantasy section while dust billowed around his shapely calves. With one powerful blow, Starscream succeeded in knocking several hundred thousand shanix worth of merchandise off the shelves and sweeping Megaton off his feet. 

“The Senate will compensate you for the loss,” Starscream had panted, nullrays glowing with orangey red with heat. All of a sudden, Megatron realised that _Fifty Shades of Steel_ wasn’t the sexiest thing in his store. 

“When I agreed to become Starcream’s conjunx,” Megatron says, slowly, “it was certainly not with the intention of joining some sort of—harem.” 

“Wh—Whaddya mean, we’re not some kind of package deal,” Skywarp bursts out. His wings quiver with barely controlled indignation, and at this point Megatron has spent enough time around flightframes to recognize the high-pitched whine of flight engines as they warm up in preparation to commit violence at top speed. 

Thundercracker pushes at Skywarp’s cockpit and slots himself in between Megatron and the purple seeker. He’s of the same height as Starscream—which makes sense since they are technically identical models—but his better posture imparts a certain gravitas. Starscream usually hunches over like he’s preoccupied with tracking down the latest person to wrong him. The thing is, when Thundercracker crosses his arms, coincidentally letting the muzzles of the weapon loadouts mounted on his forearms point right at him, Megatron finds himself stepping backwards involuntarily.

“I think it’d be a good idea to stop assuming things and start talking,” Thundercracker says, although his deep voice makes it sound more like an order. “Starscream hasn’t explained what a trine bond involves?”

Megatron shakes his head, feeling sick. Disappointed. “I never even knew that the two of you exist,” he admits. 

Somewhere from behind Thundercracker, Skywarp scoffs loudly. 

“Screamer was the one who said we should trine up in the first place. Fifth cycle, vorn one-twenty one after the Milflax campaign.” Skywarp frowns. “To be fair he was kinda doped out at the time—they took his sensor net offline after half his torso got completely slagged. You could see all sorts of weird stuff poking out of the hole, super gross.” 

A tentative half-smile shows up on Thundercracker’s face as Skywarp elaborates, as if he’s recalling fond memories instead of the most macabre damage report Megatron has ever heard of. 

Skywarp spreads his arms dramatically, nearly smacking Thundercracker in the face. Somewhere down the line they’ve moved to stand in a loose circle, like old friends being reacquainted on the street as opposed to three-quarters of an accidental foursome. 

“It was this wide,” Skywarp says, “and leaking everywhere.” 

“How did he even survive that,” Megatron asks, morbidly curious. Starscream has always given him the impression that his frame requires the greatest degree of care and attention. Once, after finding out that Megatron forgot to buy his favourite wax product, they had to fly all the way back to the store. 

“Through the power of love, duh,” Skywarp replies, bringing a hand to his chest and sighing loudly like someone out of a holodrama. He nearly over-balances leaning backwards but Thundercracker catches him, one hand curling around his waist while the other cups his face. Skywarp’s expression flickers from pretend to something deeper, his lips parting, and all of a sudden Megatron gets the feeling that he shouldn’t be watching. 

Thundercracker darts a glance towards him. He quickly sets Skywarp upright and turns towards Megatron all business again, as if he hadn’t been seconds away from a public display of affection. To the side, Skywarp pouts unseen. Thundercracker deliberately resets his vocaliser with a noisy burst of static. 

“It’s late,” he says. “Why don’t we discuss things some other time?” 

They exchange comm codes. Knowing Megatron’s conjunx-slash-their wayward trinemate, moving too quickly will only spook the seeker. Megatron’s already dreading the custody battle that awaits, if such a thing extends to spouses. Starscream may have palled around with these mechs in the past, but his lot is with Megatron now. They can’t just show up and take him back like a runaway turbofox puppy. 

Later, Megatron sits on the edge of the berth. Starscream has already settled into his favourite sleeping position, arms and legs spread to take up far more space than his skinny frame should need. Megatron carefully folds himself into the sliver of berth Starscream had magnanimously left over for him and winces when a sharp elbow jabs into his side. Even in recharge, the seeker never fails to be a pain. 

A surge of affection grips his spark, tightly. 

There isn’t a thing Megatron would change about him. Only, what other secrets are hiding inside that pointy helm of his?

**Author's Note:**

> sooooo usually when i mark something as multi-chapter it's usually bc i can't be arsed to finish everything straight away, but in this case it's ALSO thanks to how i haven't decided what flavour of makeup sex these idiots need. thots and prayers much appreciated xoxo


End file.
